


nocte furor

by ravenraiyes



Series: unholy offspring of lightning and death itself [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - How to Train Your Dragon Fusion, F/M, httyd!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4154673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenraiyes/pseuds/ravenraiyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yes!” Clarke Griffin pumps her fist in the air enthusiastically, but her father isn’t amused, glaring at her with an anger so fierce that even Bellamy, who stands a few yards away, has to wince.</p><p>Here’s the thing about Clarke Griffin - she’s a major pain in the ass. It doesn’t matter whose ass, really, she’s a pain in all of theirs, from the time she ‘accidentally’ let out all the sheep in their winter stock, which caused the village to almost die of starvation, to the time that she tried to help stop a dragon attack but ended up nearly taking out the armory.</p><p>And the crazy part is, she does this on a regular basis.</p><p>(Or, the How to Train Your Dragon AU that no one really asked for but I wrote anyway.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	nocte furor

**Author's Note:**

> i just really love how to train your dragon i'm sorry
> 
> based off of the first one; i want to make a sequel to this based on the second one (because i love that one too)

Bellamy’s house is on fire, and it’s not even Wednesday yet.

 

“Fucking _hell_ ,” he curses under his breath, already grabbing at the well worn bucket handle and running to the water well, mainly because it’s been the third time in two weeks that this has happened, and _man_ , Bellamy just wants to go to sleep without be afraid of dying in a fiery inferno.

 

It that too much to ask?

 

He doesn’t think so, but he's doubtful that it'll happen, given that the universe hates him on principle, and as a result, there’s pretty much a zero chance of that happening.

 

There are screeches in the sky, and he can hear the flapping of wings in the dark of night as villagers run rampant around him, brandishing swords of various lengths and weapons specifically forged for these sort of events.

 

Dragons.

 

Or more specifically, fighting dragons.

 

Bellamy doesn’t think it’s as exciting it sounds.

 

For one, he (and the rest of Berk) live in perpetual fear of shadows passing overhead - one time he even flinched when the shadow of a bird flew over him, something that Octavia will never let him forget (“You should’ve _seen_ the look on his face, it was like -” “Okay, O, that’s enough.”).

 

And two, well, everything ( _everything_ ) gets burnt to a crisp on a daily basis.

 

Seriously, none of the buildings on Berk are any older than six months old - the village elder can contest to that, and she's like eighty billion years old, so Bellamy thinks it's alright to trust her despite the fact that she tends to mistake him for her late husband.

 

It was not pleasant when she tried to kiss him.

 

At all.

 

(He's pretty sure her wooden teeth left some splinters on his face, which, okay,  _ew_ , and also, is pretty gross.)

 

But anyways, the good thing about the flying reptiles are that they have always have new buildings being constructed on the hour.

 

When they’re not fighting dragons, of course.

 

“Holy _shit_ , Bellamy!” Octavia yells, barreling into him as a burst of fire scorches the spot he’d been standing it just before.

 

Right. Dragons.

 

“You need to get your head out of your ass and _put out the fire_!” She frowns, smacking him upside the head and rushing towards the burning buildings with his bucket of water.

 

“I was using that,” he grumbles to no one in particular, grabbing a lone bucket, and that’s when he sees it.

 

Night Fury.

 

The word isn’t so much spoken as it is thought; his breath catches in his throat as he sees a dark shape dart along the sky - the silhouette alone foretold of the murder and death that usually followed.

 

A piercing, shrill scream fills the sky, accompanied by a purple flash, and just like that, the chaos is subdued. Dragons and villagers alike stare in fear at the dark skies - he’s unsure where exactly the threat is coming from, but knowing it’s there all the same leaves chills running down Bellamy’s spine.

 

“Get down!” he hears a yell, and when he turns around, he sees Wick toss something in his direction, and he ducks just in time to hear the _whoosh_ of whatever the hell Wick threw his way, along with the _snip snip_ of some of his curls.

 

He’s about to yell, “What the hell?” when the pained bellow of a Gronkle sounds too close to his ear, and instead, shoots the blacksmith a look of thanks before he’s stopped short by another cry of pain, but this time, from the Night Fury.

 

“Yes!” Clarke Griffin pumps her fist in the air enthusiastically, but her father isn’t amused, glaring at her with an anger so fierce that even Bellamy, who stands a few yards away, has to wince.

 

Here’s the thing about Clarke Griffin - she’s a major pain in the ass. It doesn’t matter whose ass, really, she’s a pain in all of theirs, from the time she ‘accidentally’ let out all the sheep in their winter stock, which caused the village to almost die of starvation, to the time that she tried to help stop a dragon attack but ended up nearly taking out the armory.

 

And the crazy part is, she does this on a regular basis.

 

“But I got it! I shot down the Night Fury!” she protests as her father sends her off with a stern glare and another one of his famous “oh Odin, what did I do to deserve a daughter like this” soliloquies.

 

“Yeah, and I’m Thor himself,” her father gruffly says, patting her on the back in sympathetic affection, and Bellamy forces himself to tear his gaze away from that.

 

Because deep deep down, he knows that he’s just a little bit jealous of Clarke Griffin.

 

Why?

 

Simple - no matter how many times she messes up, her dad will never stop loving her.

 

It’s more than he can say about his own.

 

___

 

Bellamy narrows his eyes at the blonde figure ‘sneaking’ out of the village, and snorts.

 

Clarke Griffin couldn’t have snuck out if she tried - she’s not even attempting to be subtle about it, nearly tripping over every surface available within a two kilometer radius.

 

Was that a _fish_ that just fell out of her coat?

 

He’s standing upright at the entrance, cleaning his sharp blade with a rag as Wick sends him a smug grin.

 

Bellamy’s pointedly ignoring his friend’s gibe in favor of watching the chief's daughter make a not so secret getaway, nearly knocking over her dear cousin Murphy in her haste.

 

They’re at the forge, where Bellamy spends his free time, because forgework is a particularly useful skill, especially for fighting dragons, and that is what Bellamy’s learning to do.

 

“Where do you think she goes everyday?” he asks no one in particular, turning the blade this way and that to appraise the metalwork, stabbing at the thin air in front of him, imagining a dying beast in front of the steel, blood splattered everywhere.

 

“Oh,” Wick grins, slamming a hammer down on the heated piece of metal, “so you _do_ care about Clarke Griffin.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Bellamy groans, leveling his friend with a glare, leaning on the door to the forge.

 

“I think that’s exactly what you meant.” A new voice enters the conversation, all teasing and smoky, and Bellamy turns to see Raven Reyes, the blacksmith apprentice, walk in, her tanned skin and teasing smile at the ready.

 

“I do not have feelings for Clarke Griffin.” He pouts, grumbling, and that’s when the two metalworkers burst out into laughter.

 

“That’s not at all what I said, but since you took it that way, I think you do, Bell!” Wick teases, dousing the sword into cool water, sharing a Look with Raven.

 

“What was that?” he asks, eyes narrowed, blade pointed at Wick (since he’s obviously the weaker one of the two). Raven just shoots him a knowing smirk - seriously, what’s with the secretive glances and shit? - and whistles, starting on the pile of broken weapons in the corner of the forge.

 

“Nothing,” Raven shrugs, tying her ebony hair into a ponytail and elbows Wick in the ribs as she starts the fire. “Nothing at all.”

 

He frowns, and takes to tossing pebbles at their heads while they repair weapons as payback.

 

People are stupid, he decides on as he leaves the forge later. He should stick to fighting dragons - it’s a lot more straight forward.

 

It should be easy, right? Maim, kill, destroy reptilian creatures that have murdered his kind for centuries on end.

 

But then he sees Clarke sneak back in, leaves and various twigs in her golden blonde hair, a stricken look on her face when his gaze lingers a bit too long - like he caught her doing something she shouldn’t have -  and he wonders if it’s really that simple.

 

___

 

The day Clarke Griffin joins the “Dragon Fighting Brigade”, as Jasper christened them with a goofy grin and a large flailing of arms, is the day they’re all going to die.

 

He looks her incredulously, all wimpy and bumbling and so _Clarke_ , that he has to hold in some laughter. She’s standing in the arena, faux confidence oozing from her in waves - they can all tell that she’s actually pretty nervous - while Wick claps a hand on her skinny shoulders, shooting him a shit-eating grin.

 

Holy shit.

 

He can’t be serious. _She_ cannot be serious.

 

Clarke Griffin is -

 

“Here to learn how to fight dragons!” Wick finishes enthusiastically, and no one but Monty (bless his soul) claps wholeheartedly.

 

Well, Bellamy had originally planned to die on the battlefield, but with Clarke in the same arena as him, that day might come a bit sooner than he imagined, judging by just how many injured Vikings she’d left in her wake when she wasn’t even armed.

 

And now, they were _willingly_ going to outfit her with a sword and a shield and place her in front of a fire-breathing dragon, of all things.

 

Gods help them.

 

___

 

“I don’t know what Wick’s thinking. Or Chief Griffin, for that matter.” Miller comments offhandedly, watching as the Nadder follows a pale, stumbling Clarke, hackles raised and ready to fire, and Bellamy sighs, looking up at the sky.

 

He has never hated his big brother complex before, but Clarke Griffin might just make him do just that, what with the number of times today that he’s had to jump in and save her ass.

 

“Me neither,” Bellamy growls, charging the dragon, and barrels into Clarke right before a load of lava is shot into her face.

 

“What -” Clarke asks breathlessly, and he ignores how very nice she smells (he thinks that it’s a concoction of lavender and something rather Clarke, but there is a Nadder in front of him, so he can’t be all too sure), turning to the problem on hand.

 

“You can thank me later, princess,” he nods, positioning himself in front of her, axe raised at the Nadder in what he hoped was a threatening manner.

 

Wick was a shit teacher, and an even shittier friend.

 

“I believe in learning on the job!” the blacksmith had grinned before unlatching the gate, scurrying outside of the arena, watching safely behind the bars.

 

For the record, if he actually did perish, it was because Wick was a shit teacher.

 

Did you get the part where Wick was a shit teacher?

 

“Ex _cuse_ me? _Princess_?” Clarke asks, outraged, and hey, okay, if Bellamy doesn’t respond, it’s because he’s too busy fighting a fucking dragon to argue with her.

 

“I don’t know if we were in the same place or not,” he starts, swiping at the Nadder, barely missing a spike to the stomach - that would’ve hurt like hell - “but you nearly got burnt to a crisp!”

 

“I had it perfectly under control!” she argues, darting forward before he can stop her, right into the jaws of the Nadder.

 

For a moment, his heart stops, and all he can think is: the chief’s daughter is going to die on his watch.

 

But then she does something with her hands - he will swear to anyone who will will listen that she fucking _scratched_ it, like how someone would do for a pet dog - and just like that, the threat is subdued.

 

He can’t really explain what the hell she just did, but suddenly, the Nadder’s on the ground, tongue lolling out and sated expression on it’s face, and Clarke’s standing there, triumphant above it.

 

“See?” she tells him smugly before clapping him on the back. “I told you I got it.”

 

___

 

“She’s better than you ever were!” Jasper crows one night, tearing into a large leg, getting sauce all over his mouth, and Bellamy rolls his eyes, staring into the fire.

 

There’s something off about Clarke Griffin, and he’s willing to bet that it has to do with where she’s been sneaking out.

 

A girl like _her_ couldn’t possibly get this good overnight.

 

Ever since that day in the arena, she’s been beating all the challenges without breaking a sweat, having defeated the Zippleback, Gronckle, and Tiny Terror.

 

More importantly, she’s been defeating the dragons before _him._

 

And it’s not because Bellamy has some dudebro shitty attitude where girls just can’t be better than him, it’s just that, well, before this sudden heroism, Clarke was the girl who couldn’t even throw a knife straight.

 

He’s actually willing to bet that she still couldn’t.

 

“That’s his broody face,” Octavia teases, and he sticks his tongue at her, choking on it when he hears the added, “He only has that expression on when he wants to get into some girl’s pants but she’s not letting him.”

 

“What?” He panics, spitting out his mutant chicken. “No, no, no, I don’t. I _don’t_!”

 

Everyone else laughs boisterously - Murphy shoots him a smirk, and Miller just grins at him knowingly (he flips the both of them off) - while Clarke just affixes him with a small smirk, and _goddamnit_ he is not blushing.

 

He’s _not_.

 

“I hate you all.” he mutters, biting into the meat, and chewing so that he’s spared from having to make actual conversation.

 

“No you don’t!” Octavia finishes brightly, and right, of course, he can’t stay mad at her, she’s his favorite sister.

 

“I’m your only sister,” O throws a rock at his face - which hurts like a bitch, not that she actually cares - and laughs prettily. He throws the rock halfheartedly at her, narrowing his eyes at Jasper’s not so obviously swooning, and decides that the moony boy isn’t worth the trouble (yet) as he resorts tending the fire.

 

“Oh, shut it.” He grumbles, glancing over at Clarke curiously, except in place of the blonde girl, there’s a piece of meat on a stick, wobbling.

 

 _Huh_ , he thinks.

 

Clarke Griffin is an enigma, and Bellamy actually thinks that solving her mystery wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s ever done.

 

___

 

Scratch that. It’s actually the worst thing he’s ever done.

 

Because Clarke Griffin, newly acclaimed dragon master, is actually pretty fucking hard to track down.

 

He’d initially thought that with all the bumbling that she does, that she’d be pretty easy to find in the forest. You know, follow the trail of destruction and all that.

 

He was so, _so_ , wrong.

 

He swore that he had seen her disappear into the forest, and he’d tailed her until there had been a giant clump of trees, and he’d lost her.

 

The next time he followed her, he had kept a closer lead until she disappeared on him again, this time by a clump of boulders.

 

The next _next_ time, he wasn’t so sneaky. Or forgiving.

 

“What are you not telling me, princess?” he growls, slamming her into the nearest tree, his arm at her throat.

 

She lets out a soft sound of surprise, and Bellamy realizes two things:

 

One, he did not think this through. Like, at all.

 

(But then again, he almost never does, with anything that he puts his mind to, so. There’s that.)

 

And two, Clarke is a _lot_ closer than necessary. A lot. And her lips are rather, well, distracting.

 

 _Focus,_ he reminds himself, and presses his arm against her throat, more insistently this time. He also ignores the smell of Clarke wafting over him - yep, that’s definitely lavender - and the soft skin underneath his forearm.

 

“Let me say that again,” he says, slowly, like she’s the village idiot. “What. Are. You. Hiding?”

 

The last thing he expects is for her to kiss him.

 

They’re not very good at it - he’s sixteen, and the only girls he’s actually ever kissed are Octavia and her mother; she’s fifteen and he doesn’t expect much from her - but somehow it actually becomes very intoxicating and good; the feel of her lips on his are incredible, the wet slip and slide of their tongues bring a jolt to his stomach, and -

 

He pulls away, regrettably, and blinks hard before glancing at her swollen pink (very kissable) lips with a hoarse, “What was that, princess?”

  
She looks back at him, cloudy blue eyes, and shrugs her shoulders, smirking as she pulls on his armor buckle, flipping them around so he feels the bark dig into his shoulder, her lithe fingers curling around his dark locks as she tugs him down to kiss him again.

 

“I don’t know. But I like it.”

 

___

 

He wants to say he saw this coming.

 

But then again, with Clarke Griffin as a girlfriend, pretty much anything is possible.

 

So no, he did not see this coming.

 

“Astra, this is Bellamy.” Clarke grins, gesturing to the fucking Night Fury like it’s some sort of pet sheep, petting it on the head as it licks Clarke.

 

Without swallowing her whole, or at least maiming her.

 

“What the fuck.” He says flatly, and the thing growls at him and okay, yes, he’s a little fucking scared.

 

It’s a freaking _Night Fury_! What else is he supposed to do?

 

“Uhm, so yeah,” Clarke bites her lip shyly, and gestures to - what she’d call it? Aster? Asteroid? - the beast, “This is what I’ve been hiding.”

 

“A fucking _dragon_?” he asks incredulously, and immediately feels chastened by the deflated look on Clarke’s face (and by the sharp teeth bared at him).

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, shaking his head, lifting his hands up in surrender. “It’s just - a dragon? And a Night Fury too?”

 

“I told you I shot it down!” Clarke grins, puffing out her chest adorably, and man, okay, so maybe a pet dragon isn’t the _worst_ secret for your girlfriend to have.

 

Then she does something even more incredible - she gets on the fucking thing, strapping onto the beast like it’s something she’s done more than once (which worries him to no end; has she ever fallen?).

 

“Wanna go on a ride?” she asks, eyes sparkling, and by the way his heart is sputtering in his chest, Bellamy already knows he’s too far gone.

 

(And because he's never been able to say no to Clarke, he helps her convert Berk into a more dragon-friendly place, and hell, he gets one too, because, well, dragons are fucking  _cool_ , alright?)

 

(He names his Deadly Nadder Ran, mainly because he's a fucking nerd that loves mythology. And Clarke. Both, really.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? comments? kudos? want a second installment?
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://grounderbell.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> here's a complete list of the characters!
> 
> hiccup - clarke  
> astrid - bellamy  
> astrid’s made up sibling - octavia  
> dragon rider - abby  
> eret - lincoln  
> male vers. of ruffnut - monty  
> tuffnut - jasper  
> (obviously cooler) fishlegs - miller  
> snotlout - murphy  
> hotter, younger gobber - wick  
> new blacksmith - raven  
> hiccup’s dad - jake griffin
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
